


But It's Better If You Do

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Cock Rings, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: Gaston wishes he could have taken LeFou's virginity - and he still kind of can. The only thing LeFou's never done is topped.





	But It's Better If You Do

**Author's Note:**

> Sorryyyy, I was really reluctant to write LeFou on top so I hope this is okay and makes sense.
> 
> Porn, amirite?

“Oh _god_ \--!”

It's deep into the early morning, having retired to Gaston's bungalow with ale on their tongues and their minds cloudy. Gaston presses into LeFou, forces him against the bedroom wall so that he's held there; trapped between the wooden wallboard and Gaston’s own hips and abdominals.

They're exhausted, but hungry for it nevertheless, and LeFou doesn't _really_ think the neighbours will hear them, but the fact that he's being ploughed into the wall beside an open window gets his heart racing, and the adrenaline combined with his inebriation tells him that he won't be lasting very long.

Gaston likewise must feel it too, rocking into LeFou slowly, with languid thrusts designed to prolong their activity.

“You're so soft,” Gaston mumbles heatedly into the damp crux of his friend's neck, always much more affectionate than usual after a long night at the tavern. “You take it so well…”

LeFou laughs but is inwardly destroyed; doesn't dare reply for fear of his own drunken mouth betraying him with a confession of love.

Gaston's hips stutter soon enough, the sure sign that he's climaxed and LeFou follows shortly after, pumping himself to fruition with no help from Gaston other than the blessed feeling of Gaston's teeth scraping across his collarbone.

LeFou's feet find the ground as his partner bends to release him and withdraws. He's supported on shaky legs, guided to the bed by Gaston's strong, steady hand at the small of his back.

They fall together onto the quilts and fur throws; the mattress - far too used and lumpy - creaks with finality. And then they lay panting, chests heaving; LeFou’s gut staining the covers beneath him with perspiration, and Gaston admiring the oily smear of their bodies across his wall.

Exhaling deeply, Gaston props himself up against the pillows, resting his head against clasped hands and folded arms.

He waits for them to catch their respective breaths, for the high of their orgasms to settle. He accommodates LeFou as his sweat-slick frame rolls over on the blankets and he cuddles against Gaston’s chest. They’re quiet for a moment, LeFou listening to Gaston’s heartbeat, idly playing with the curls on the man's chest.

But Gaston’s had this on his mind all night, and finally the words flow freely: “I fear, LeFou, that I'm outgrowing Villeneuve.”

“Oh?” LeFou purrs. There's cynicism in his tone, laughter on his lips. 

“Mm,” Gaston nods, staring at the ceiling. “There were markedly fewer available women tonight at the tavern…Fewer than last week, and even fewer than the week before. How do you suppose these women are going about getting themselves wed so easily? There's nothing particularly remarkable about any of them.” 

“Hmm,” LeFou bites his tongue on the matter. “Perhaps it’s time we travelled?” 

Gaston’s chin turns; his hazel eyes stare into LeFou’s with genuine thought. “Perhaps. We could start anew in another small town - make a new story for myself there..?” 

LeFou smiles against Gaston’s heated flesh; places a kiss to the damp skin of his shoulder. 

“I was thinking maybe Paris,” he coos. “Plenty of beautiful women to choose from in a city as large as Paris.” 

“And men as well,” Gaston scoffs. 

Gaston knows it was a poor choice of words the moment they leave him, and sure enough LeFou reels with indignance at the comment and moves to get up. He holds himself up with his left hand but Gaston grabs his right wrist before he can drag it from its place on his chest.

“Stay,” Gaston says softly, tugging LeFou back down to him on the mattress. He bites his lower lip as he speaks, which LeFou understands to be a rare sign of anxiety in his friend, held over from the war. “You know I can't judge you for your preferences.”

“You can and would,” LeFou pouts. Still, he allows himself to be coaxed down, but closes his eyes and thins his lips to show his upset.

They lay together in silence, listening to the crickets and frogs outside of Gaston’s bedroom window sing their lullabies. Gaston combs his fingers through LeFou's hair tenderly, twisting his index finger around in his friend's curls. It's a complex intimacy they share, frequently enough - _have_ shared for several years now - and LeFou sighs against the man's touch and allows himself to derive pleasure from his delicate ministrations. He wonders why Gaston needs to look for a wife, or any additional sexual conquests at all.

The next thing to fall from Gaston’s mouth is just as out of the blue as the thought of him outgrowing his adoring hometown: “How many men have you been with?” 

His eyes avoid LeFou’s, focusing once again on the wall, but LeFou's snap open and on to Gaston’s in an instant. 

Gaston had always been a man who had been most interested in beautiful people who were interested in his beautiful self, regardless of gender, though to LeFou’s knowledge there had been no other men in his sexual history.

His own history, however - dangerous as it was - was something that did not need to be discussed.

“Are you _jealous_?” LeFou snorts, shields up, forehead twitching with annoyance.

“What's the harm in asking!? I boast about my encounters all the time!”

“As though I care!”

An impossible rage burns behind Gaston’s eyes, and LeFou can see it well. There are times that he can push Gaston - can persuade him into a better humour or can tease him in ways that no one else would ever dare to - but right now is not one of those times.

They're both naked - perhaps vulnerable - and LeFou supposes that Gaston wouldn't have asked something like this without having a reason. He sighs and grabs at a handkerchief from the side table to clean the mess from himself and his dearest friend. 

“If it soothes your ego,” he diplomatically tries, “you’ll be glad to know that I imagined every single one of them was you.”

“Every single one--! You make it sound as though there were many.”

“...There weren’t _few_.” 

Gaston frowns. 

“Now don’t be sore,” LeFou scolds. “I was a soldier and we were in the city! I found a place for men...like me…” 

Gaston takes the handkerchief from LeFou and folds it, places it aside.

“No, LeFou, I'm not sore. I only regret not having been able to be... _with_ you during the war.” He takes LeFou’s hand, then; kisses LeFou's knuckles softly and continues. “What I find most upsetting is that for all the time we’ve known each other, I couldn't have been your first.”

LeFou grins widely; can't contain a short stream of cynical laughter. Since the time they were teenagers, LeFou had openly pined over his best friend and Captain, and the man had remained ignorant to LeFou's feelings - whether deliberately or not. Even now, though they were intimate, it wasn't LeFou's place to try to weasel his way further into Gaston’s life. 

Gaston wanted a wife, and LeFou was powerless to stop that stubborn determination. They wouldn't be able to be wed or appear as a couple in public, and that wasn't good enough for Gaston - it wasn't what was done. Gaston wanted to be seen with a trophy wife on his arm, and LeFou would have to be content with being a secret.

And for now he was. 

But he can’t deny the sting of Gaston’s entitlement, so he scoffs. “Hah!”

“What’s ‘hah?’”

“Well,” LeFou flops back against Gaston; tugs Gaston's chin to him so that their lips ghost against each other. “You could have done anything you'd wanted back then, but there isn’t much use in dwelling on the past.” The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “If it’s firsts you’re after...there _is_ something I’ve never done before.”

Gaston’s eyes light up. “And what is that?”

“Well, I’ve always been the one to-- I’ve never,” he clears his throat, “penetrated a man before.”

Gaston balks at first, brows raised as high as they can go on his forehead, features stretched with surprise. LeFou looks at him bemused through half-lidded eyes, because of course he never expected Gaston’s favourable consent to the idea in the first place.

But the look of vague disappointment sets a fire inside of Gaston, as though he has something to prove. He isn't prudish - he'd wager that he has more sexual experience than any of the other men in town - so why not add this simple benevolent act to his repertoire?

“My dear LeFou, you look as though you wouldn't believe me if I told you I'd let you do…that,” Gaston waves a hand dismissively through the air, a grin creeping across his face. “You simply never struck me as someone who would desire to do it.”

“Well,” LeFou drawls.

“After all, you do so enjoy being fucked well and good,” Gaston purrs against his partner's lips, and then he's devouring him.

He pulls LeFou closer to him, right hand at the small of LeFou's back and the other gripping possessively at his chin. Gaston nips at his lips playfully, sloppily. Tiredly.

“Shall we turn in?” the barge of a man says through a yawn.

The crickets and frogs have finally begun to quiet down, and likewise LeFou blows out the candlestick and curls into Gaston to lose himself in sleep.

\---

LeFou wakes to a dip in the bed, Gaston setting foot on creaky floorboards to make his way to the windowsill. He draws the curtain and LeFou groans at the sudden breach of daylight flooding his vision.

It's hard to complain once he rubs the sleep from his eyes with his palms, though; there sits Gaston before him, muscles shining through the thin white linen of the tunic he's just pulled over his head. His dark locks flutter about his shoulders, his eyebrows perfectly pressed.

“Good morning,” LeFou yawns, a burgeoning headache pounding at this temple.

Gaston doesn’t tear his eyes away from the street below, but he grins. “Yes, it is.”

The villagers have begun to stick their heads out of their windows, similarly to Gaston, and LeFou can hear familiar voices shouting “Bonjour” and “Good day” to nobody in particular down below. LeFou’s feet hit the floor and he moves slowly to join Gaston’s side - not daring to get close enough for anyone to see him through the window - but it doesn’t matter anyway, as Gaston holds a hand up to stop LeFou in his tracks.

“Here she comes, LeFou,” Gaston murmurs.

“Good morning, Belle!” he shouts out his window as the young brunette below looks up at him and grimaces, shaking her head and facing back down to the pages of a book. Gaston smiles, narrowing his eyes in a familiarly predatory way.

“She’s gorgeous, LeFou,” Gaston sighs, leaning against the window frame, admiring the backside of the city girl named Belle walking out of sight.

The smell of fresh pies and tarts and firewood wafts in through the window, and LeFou stands awkwardly to the side, feeling sick with himself, with Gaston. He breathes deeply, holding his head. He hesitates to approach further, hesitates to show the habitual affection he showers Gaston with every morning after. 

“I’ve set my sights on her. She’s perfect. Why remove ourselves from Villeneuve when there’s still prey to be found here, eh?”

When Gaston’s musing over women, it’s best for LeFou to either keep his mouth shut or blindly agree, so he simply nods and hums. The inventor's daughter poses no threat, and LeFou doesn't want to think about the subject anymore.

He turns to head towards the kitchen to start breakfast and nurse his hangover.

\---

He sees Belle that day at the market, keeps an eye on her as he purchases fresh mushrooms and cucumbers from Antoine, the brim of his hat pulled low to keep out the sun.

His head still throbs from last night's binge, but more than that, LeFou feels an ache in his heart as well. It's not unusual; some days are better than others. 

He doesn't know what he wants.

Belle places eggs in her cloth bag and continues on. LeFou can see the appeal in her, in an odd way, with the sun bouncing off her shoulders and giving her auburn hair a strawberry tint. What LeFou finds most interesting about her, however, is her complete indifference to Gaston's very existence.

LeFou almost wishes Belle _would_ throw herself at him...maybe then the lack of a chase would bore Gaston and they truly could move on to an exciting city like Paris.

He waits for Gaston to finish his business in Jean-Luc’s butcher shop and prays that Belle finishes her business before he can come out and spot her. No such luck, though; Bertrand and Clothilde have some words with her that LeFou doesn't care to eavesdrop on, and then the young lady is making her way up the steps to the very butcher shop Gaston has spent the past ten minutes inside.

The one thing LeFou can find humour in this afternoon is the sight of Belle’s face, painted with disgust, as she walks hurriedly down the steps of the shop - not two minutes later - without the meat for which she'd gone in.

A smile tugs at his lips and for a moment LeFou even forgets how sore his head is and how sick he feels; he holds back haughty laughter as Gaston rushes out the door, looking frantically left and right, but Belle is long gone.

“Did you see her?” he growls, stalking over to LeFou at the fruit stand.

“Hm?”

“Belle,” his tone is sharp, “did you see which way she went.”

LeFou pulls the brim of his hat lower, avoiding Gaston's glare, knowing full well that lying to the man he so loves is not his strong suit.

“I've been doing _your_ shopping, I haven't been looking at _women_ ," he snaps. 

Gaston huffs and skulks his way to town square.

\---

The tavern does nothing for LeFou's mood. He's no longer hungover, but he hadn't been able to shake this morning’s headache, and so he sits drinking mugs of water, watching Gaston chug back mugs of ale.

He's become more out of touch with Villeneuve than he'd thought - he doesn't even know the name of the woman who sits on the arm of Gaston's chair by the fire. He barely even recognizes her, though admittedly loose women tend to look quite similar to him.

LeFou takes in the deep rumble of Gaston's laughter; is maybe a little bit jealous that he has fallen by the wayside tonight.

He orders and finished a bowl of mushroom soup. He plays a round of darts with an old acquaintance from the war named Léon. Nothing helps to keep LeFou's mind off his pathetic feelings of unfounded abandonment, so he raises from his seat, finishing his water, and heads towards Gaston.

“I'll be heading home, Gaston...sorry,” he says sheepishly. The woman narrows her eyes at him as though she's questioning why LeFou would even need to tell Gaston something as inconsequential as that in the first place; why he's over here interrupting them. He feels unusually self conscious about it.

“It’s only just nine o’clock!”

Gaston seems surprised and slighted, almost raises from his chair, but the lady - in his lap now - prevents him from doing so.

“I'm afraid I was overindulgent yesterday evening…and I can't help but feel sick at the thought of drinking right now.”

He hopes he isn't staring too much at Gaston's _fille-du-jour_ , hopes he isn't being too obvious about why he's leaving.

He hopes Gaston will leave the woman there and walk him home.

But Gaston simply says, “Very well, LeFou, we'll see you tomorrow, yes?” and remains seated, so LeFou nods and turns his back, and takes his leave.

\---

There's a knocking at the door, loud and sure. It's in Gaston’s trademark rhythm, and LeFou is almost reluctant to answer it. And, indeed, he has taken too long, for soon LeFou can hear the door opening and his friend entering his small home unbidden.

The clop of Gaston’s heavy boots makes its way deeper into the main room.

“LeFou!”

LeFou wants to shout at him, turn him away, scold him, but all he can do is stand in the middle of his bedroom in his nightgown and continue folding the clothing he'd just removed; wait for Gaston to find him there.

And as though Gaston can suddenly read minds, those heavy footsteps make their way further into his home and towards him, until finally Gaston is poking his head into the privacy of the bedroom.

“LeFou, good man. There you are,” he says, charming as ever; it oozes from him and makes LeFou's resolve crumble.

Gaston approaches, smelling of vodka and sweat and smoke. He steps forward, traps LeFou in an embrace; hands roaming up and down LeFou's arms draped in thin cotton.

“Everyone missed you at the tavern,” Gaston offers. He leans in for kiss, and LeFou can now clearly see the brilliant red of lipstick smeared at Gaston’s Adam’s apple.

“I-- I still feel quite sick. Gaston, you should go home and rest.”

Gaston doesn't accept the excuse, however, and follows LeFou's gaze with his fingers, rubbing at his neck and withdrawing them to admire the red makeup left behind from one of his many admirers.

“I thought you were past jealousy,” Gaston smirks haughtily down at his friend. “Isn't it you I come back to each evening?”

“And when you take a wife,” LeFou says plainly with downcast eyes, “You'll continue this also? Isn't it time we stop?”

Gaston looks completely taken aback. “Stop _now_? Don't you remember last night?” he asks. “You owe me your last virginity, LeFou. And I want it now. That's why I'm here.”

He looks down assuredly and their eyes meet; those warm, strong hands never stop caressing him, and LeFou knows he's being played, but he can't bring himself to care.

He lets Gaston kiss him, and kisses back feverishly. He lets his tongue flick at the underside of Gaston’s, and let's Gaston press against the roof of his mouth; run along each of his teeth and tickle at the tip of his tongue.

He lets himself moan into Gaston’s mouth, his stubble tickling at his skin. He lets Gaston walk him backwards and push him down onto the bed.

“You smell like sex,” LeFou chides, “are you sure you still have the stamina for this?”

Gaston chortles. “You're the one who's going to need it, hm?”

And LeFou can feel the heat rise to his cheeks - is sure he's blushing quite noticeably - at the realisation of what they agreed to do last night; an agreeance tainted with alcohol but which appears to want to be fully honoured nevertheless by Gaston.

He nearly blacks out at the thought of it.

“G-go lock the front door,” LeFou says dumbly, and Gaston grins - as would a devil - and complies, leaving LeFou momentarily to disrobe and prepare himself.

When Gaston returns, LeFou is nude and lying starfished across his unmade bed.

Watching Gaston undress is a treat as always, and LeFou takes the show in eagerly, fingers trickling down his gut to rest at the base of his cock. Gaston throws his waistcoat and tunic unceremoniously to the floor, eyes on LeFou's right hand.

“You can touch yourself,” he says coolly, “you're in charge after all.” He laughs, and LeFou questions just how seriously Gaston is taking this.

But he does as Gaston suggests and wraps his fingers around his shaft, stroking himself lazily as Gaston works on kicking off his boots and stockings, unfastening the fly of his breeches and stepping out of them to reveal his glorious nakedity.

Godlike, with sharp hip lines and glistening, bulbous pectorals.

The only blemish is the smear of red found not only on his Adam’s apple, but visible on his right nipple and slightly below that as well.

LeFou frowns.

“You didn't even try to hide what you've been up to this evening,” he pouts. “I don't want to see that.”

Gaston wipes at his neck with the back of his hand, but seems ignorant of the marks on his chest, so LeFou wills himself to let it go. When Gaston lays face-down on the bed beside him, he's all but distracted.

“I'll try to do as you do,” Gaston says impishly, “as you're particularly skilled at this - although I don't doubt that my own skill plays its part as well - I accept you as my mentor.”

The man shifts to raise his hips, then, and LeFou swallows deeply. He slips down the mattress, tangling himself in blankets as he moves; Gaston has his ass in the air, and he would look ridiculous if LeFou wasn’t already breathing heavily, aroused completely by the thought of what they were about to do together. What he was going to do to Gaston--

“Proceed at your leisure, my friend.”

He's barely touched himself but LeFou's cock is at full attention, tapping gently at the back of Gaston’s legs as his hands run down Gaston’s sides; he never tires of the sensation.

He leans over the man, dotting his back in soft pecks. With every kiss, he grips more and more firmly at the taller man’s hips; kneading his thumbs into Gaston’s flanks and slowly moving to cup a buttock in each hand. LeFou breathes hot and heavy against his friend’s lower back, and when he finally grips tighter and spreads, Gaston jolts beneath him.

“What are you doing?”

LeFou backs away in surprise, shaken from his reverie. “S-sorry! Um--”

Gaston exhales loudly and turns to face the bedding. “I didn't mean to shout,” he mumbles drunkenly against it.

It’s humbling to hear the great Gaston sound so small, nervous, ashamed. He’s used to taking, being the confident, dominant leader of their escapades. He’s certainly never engaged in the intimate foreplay that LeFou has planned; has no idea it’s even an option, if LeFou had to place bets.  

So LeFou sits back on his heels and resumes his gentle caressing of Gaston’s backside.

“I didn't intend to startle you, but Gaston…” LeFou bites his lower lip to suppress a smirk. “That reckless pushing in _you_ do--”

Gaston shoots LeFou an aggravated glare.

“--I like it! That is to say, I don't mind that. But with all due respect, it's not going to do for you.”

Gaston grunts, mutters, “Very well,” and again turns to face away from his friend.

LeFou leans into Gaston once more, tongue tracing the curves of his body; breath hot against his outer thigh. He kisses at the crease of Gaston’s upper leg at his hip bone and drags his teeth along hair-dusted flesh until he’s back at the crease of Gaston’s ass, spreading the man’s cheeks taught.

“Relax and let me make you feel good,” he coos.

And then LeFou’s tongue is pressed to Gaston’s rim, and the man gasps out in a shiver. He retracts his tongue and licks again, eliciting the same reaction of a small wail and shiver. He nips at Gaston’s ass cheek and kisses it, then repeats running the expanse of his tongue over Gaston’s hole, placing wet kisses there and lapping at him crudely.

LeFou hums, dipping his left hand between Gaston’s legs to knead at the man’s crotch, rubbing at the seam of his balls as Gaston hisses into the bedlinens. He keeps the man spread open with his free hand, suckling at the sensitive pucker, penetrating it lightly with his tongue as soon as he grips the man’s cock and fists it slowly up and down, thrilled to feel Gaston growing hard at his touch.

The man mumbles incoherently into the bed, and LeFou can’t help but grin. He draws away, just barely.

“You sound amazing…Or are you just imitating me?"

Gaston grunts in reply. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m absolutely not,” LeFou huffs hot, stale breath against Gaston’s back. “You _do_ sound wonderful. I could get used to this.”

Gaston’s hips rock in time to LeFou’s languid pumps of his shaft, and it’s too much for LeFou to resist; watching his partner’s ass gyrating in front of him. LeFou swallows harshly; grips his own erection tightly in hand and jerks.

“ _Aah_ \--! God, Gaston,” LeFou chokes, steadying the pace and stroking them both quickly together. “It’s like a dream...to think I could fuck you...”

He’s panting, losing control already, pathetic. But Gaston’s losing it too, thrusting back and forth into LeFou’s hand, and then suddenly--

LeFou releases them both.

His chest heaves, brow sweaty already with such little exertion. He slips off the side of the bed and clambers to the bedside table, opening the small drawer there and retrieving his small jar of oil lubricant.

The bed protests as he climbs back on, resting behind Gaston - one thick, muscular leg on either side of LeFou’s. His fingers dance over Gaston’s form, tickling, and he can see Gaston’s muscles quivering under every one of his featherlight touches.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Gaston nods. “Just do it.”

Finally, LeFou removes the cork stopper from the jar and dips one finger at a time into the oil; first his index, then his middle. His thumbs dip into the cleft of Gaston’s ass, slowly spreading him apart.

“It’s going to feel worse before it feels better, ” LeFou warns quickly, softly, as he presses the first finger in past the tight ring of muscle.

Gaston’s shoulders shrug and his entire body tightens, but he says nothing. Doesn’t even make a sound.

“Gast--”

LeFou watches his middle finger sink inside and disappear between Gaston’s legs, hypnotized when he pulls out and pushes slowly back in. This time, Gaston does make a noise - like a whimper - but LeFou continues, penetrating his friend with one stubby finger; darting his tongue over his lips and adding the second.

“Gaston…”

He looks beautiful with his face pushed into the pillows, ass up, flushed pink and moist with LeFou’s saliva and oil. He’s hairy and toned as a prime male specimen should be, like a Greek God, and LeFou defiles him over and over again, sighing with absolute disbelief. The air is thick with the musk of Man, it floods his nostrils and makes LeFou echo Gaston’s whimpers.

When he can feel Gaston’s body slacking, he turns his wrist and pushes into Gaston deeper - still slowly, but deeply enough that when he crooks his fingers slightly, he’s pressing down, hunting for the sweet inner spot that will hopefully coax an even more favourable reaction from him.

He rubs circles into Gaston with the flat of his fingertips.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” LeFou sighs drunkenly. He presses his erection against Gaston’s inner right thigh, rocking in time with the thrusts of his fingers. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

And then Gaston jerks, gasps out in ecstasy; manages to choke out, “W-what--?”

“Found it,” LeFou sneers, lips smacking into a wide grin. "You're truly incredible, Gaston."

The room feels much warmer now that Gaston is getting as worked up as LeFou, and he doesn’t let up, massaging the man’s prostate relentlessly, absorbing each of Gaston’s delicious cries. The man thrusts against LeFou’s fingers, recklessly enough for LeFou to slip in a third without protest - just another sweet profane cry of “Fuck!”

“The b-best is yet to come, Gaston-- Are you ready for more?”

There’s a pillow wedged between the man’s teeth, and LeFou smiles. “You can let yourself go, _mon capitaine_. Tell me you’re ready for my cock?”

Gaston simply nods - eyes screwed shut - and grunts, “Do it.” 

LeFou removes his fingers, then, wiping them on his quilt, and backs up against him. He grabs his cock, stroking himself tightly to the vision of Gaston submissive before him. He’s never particularly cared to imagine a scenario such as this - Gaston looks so good hovering about him, after all - but he is certainly hard pressed to disagree that it’s an intoxicating sight.

He stops short of pressing into Gaston and chuckles. “Turn around.”

Gaston’s brow furrows as his eyes slowly open. His face is reddened and slick with sweat, his eyes narrow and he shifts on the bed - starting to turn slightly, but not committing. He seems nervous, embarrassed, despite LeFou having seen him naked many, many times in their recent history.

“Why?”

He grabs at Gaston’s calves to push him over onto his back. “I’m too short, I can’t reach. It isn’t going to work this way,” he laughs timidly as an apology. “...And I’d like to see you.”

Gaston reluctantly flips onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he gets a good look at LeFou’s flushed face: flushed a brilliant pink, lips red and glistening, eyes heavy-lidded in arousal. Sweat-soaked curls falling into his face. Gaston opens his mouth to say something, but he’s at a loss for once, and closes it just as abruptly.

LeFou blinks lazily and better positions himself, hooking his friend’s legs over his shoulders. He’s heavy, though, so LeFou gathers the unused blankets and pillows on the bed together and stuffs them under Gaston’s backside for leverage and support. He laughs softly, but LeFou is focused on the task at hand.

“I want you to feel good.”

“You’ve done well thus far,” Gaston grins.

The head of LeFou's cock slips against Gaston’s hole, causing them both to inhale raggedly, slack-jawed; Gaston beginning to grit his teeth to brace himself as LeFou rubs against him again, and a third time, and a fourth.

"You're amazing," LeFou mutters in a daze, "No mere mortal deserves you..."

He's studying the quivers of the bronzed flesh below him - the tremors of Gaston’s abdomen, the way Gaston’s cock twitches towards his stomach, a dewdrop of thick precum so close to sticking to his gut with each bob…

He presses in before Gaston can chide him for staring, and - _oh_ \- it's like heaven. “O-oh, fff--”

He buries himself to the hilt, gently but not particularly slowly, overwhelmed but the hot, tight squeeze that he's unused to; is a hundred times better than his own hand. Gaston’s fist flies to his mouth, and he presses a knuckle against his lips to stifle the noise coming out of him.

He doesn't sound pleased - not like LeFou when Gaston takes _him_ \- but he doesn't complain. He's a virgin in this regard, after all. A bit of pain is to be expected.

LeFou almost feels selfish for enjoying it so much.

But he doesn't hesitate to pull out, shushing Gaston sweetly as he withdraws inch by inch, leaving just the head of his cock inside of his partner. He plunges back in, eyes slipping shut, mouth hanging open.

“G-God Gaston,” he hisses, “you're so tight…”

Gaston stares up at the stout man who hovers over him; looks at his ankles hooked over LeFou's shoulders, his cock dripping into his bellybutton now. He can feel the heat rising to the surface of his cheeks, he can feel it in the tips of his ears. There's something exciting in giving LeFou the reigns, though he doesn't feel as amazing as LeFou must when he fucks him.

LeFou positively _screams_ for more when they fuck; has a lewd grin spread across his face and his tongue lolling out nearly the second Gaston gets his cock inside.

Gaston knows he's tense and wills himself to relax.

LeFou looks damn good with his eyes glazed over with arousal, right eyelid twitching as he gnaws his lower lip. He's got sweat dripping from his furrowed brow down his soft stomach, and finally Gaston smiles.

“You look like a virgin,” Gaston chortles.

“I told you it's my first time, I--” LeFou steadies his breathing as he bucks his hips back once more in and out, leaving Gaston nearly empty and waiting for more. “I'm afraid I'll finish if we go too fast. You’re just…so damn muscular,” he laughs. “You feel so good.”

“I can imagine that I must,” Gaston grins confidently, “but do continue, dear friend. I want to know what you find so enticing about being on your back all the time. Here...”

Gaston reaches behind his head, pulls the silken yellow ribbon from his hair. It flows freely about his neck and shoulders, and LeFou aches to run his hands through it, but then Gaston is sitting up as best he can, freeing himself of the tip of his friend's cock as LeFou's hands fall from Gaston’s calves.

He watches Gaston reach forward with the ribbon, watches him wrap it from the underside of his cock and tie it tightly in a small bow at the base. The reddish head beads with precum and LeFou whimpers as Gaston’s hands leave him.

“It'll help,” Gaston says without elaboration, reclining back against the mussed bedding.

And LeFou feels instantly more aroused by the thought of it alone. It's overwhelming - consumes him - and he can't hold himself back. He obliges Gaston and thrusts forward with more force than before. His fingers dust Gaston's abdominals; he clings tightly to either side of Gaston’s waist.

“Uhnn-- ahhh,” LeFou moans. It lingers obscenely in the air, and Gaston is thankful that LeFou had kept his windows shut.

Gaston himself has his teeth clenched, expression screwed up into one of intense pain. He wiggles to better position himself against the pillows beneath his butt now that he's no longer being held in place by his legs, and the next thrust of LeFou’s brings that newly familiar feeling of intense pleasure.

He clasps a hand over his mouth.

LeFou mewls unabashedly, so sensitive to the quakes of Gaston's muscles around him; so sensitive with the ribbon around him constricting his blood flow, making him hot and desperate for orgasm.

His face is contorted into something primal, and he hisses through clenched teeth, “Christ! _G-Gaston_!”

And the look on Gaston's face is heart-stoppingly precious; the rarest thing LeFou has ever laid eyes on. Its obscene, how colourful and damp with sweat and tears his cheeks are, and he's got an uncharacteristically vulnerable look in his eyes - at least, when he dares to open them. He's breathing heavily through his congested nose as LeFou pounds into him relentlessly.

“D-don't cover your mouth, Gaston,” LeFou gasps shallowly, “I w-want to hear the sounds you make--”

But Gaston doesn't listen - be it intentionally or not - and so LeFou bends, reaches down to the arm thrown across Gaston's mouth and drags it off; interlaces Gaston's fingers with his own, keeping the man’s arms pinned to the bed above his head.

It's true, maybe, that LeFou isn't as skilled at keeping up an even, breakneck rhythm as Gaston is, but he feels a certain kind of pride in how he's making them breathe raggedly together as he grinds his hips against Gaston's backside.

More prideful still, when finally LeFou can hear the baritone of his friend's embarrassing chirps and cries and moans.

But it's that final vocalization of his name that tips LeFou over the edge. Gaston sounds so pathetically _wrecked_ beneath him, with his perfect dark hair framing his perfect face wildly, his perfectly toned chest heaving as LeFou fills his perfect ass with his seed.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” he grunts, “ _nngh!_ ”

He keeps moving until he's confident that he's finished, daintily untying the yellow ribbon and withdrawing from Gaston’s ass.

LeFou swears he can hear through the faintest of whimpers, the word “please,” and it lights a fire in LeFou anew, stirs his tired cock again, and he feels like he could die here and now. Gaston scoots up on the bed once LeFou releases his hands, and then LeFou is slipping down towards the foot of the mattress, in a familiar spot between Gaston’s legs, leaning into lap the dew of precum from Gaston’s rigid cock.

The man moans angelically under the pressure of his tongue, and LeFou can't help but press two of his fingers inside Gaston once more. 

And then it's a simple twist of those fingers and a wet, unbroken line licked from the hair at Gaston's groin to the tip of his cock and he's cumming, stripe after stripe of thick white on LeFou's tongue and nose and chin.

They let their heart rates slow; Gaston with his head tossed back, breathing steadily, and LeFou wiping his face with the back of his hand, sucking the excess from his fingers and dabbing the rest with the corner of his bedlinens.

The small room is silent for a moment, and then Gaston is laughing: a loud thunderous laughter from his gut, genuine, like music to LeFou's ears. He grins and laughs shallowly along with him.

“What's so funny?”

“I enjoyed that,” Gaston says simply, eyes closed. “I was thinking about what a woman might say, had I told her to do any of that for me.”

And he laughs again. Indeed, any prior hint of embarrassment is gone. Gaston looks fully sated, and not regretful, and it warms LeFou's heart and gives him hope for a future where Gaston might settle for bachelorhood, disregarding what the townsfolk think.

“Are you feeling well now, LeFou?” Gaston asks.

LeFou presses a kiss to Gaston's temple and flops down beside him on the bed. Similarly to last night, LeFou snuggles up against Gaston's side, tracing Gaston's pecs with one finger.

“Much better, thank you.”

Gaston dabs the sweat from his body with the already-soiled bedsheets, humming in response.

In the end, LeFou is not nearly foolish enough to believe that Gaston's stubborn resolve has wavered, and he's sure he hasn't heard the last about Belle or about marriage, hasn't seen his last smears of lipstick across Gaston’s chest.

He knows this isn't the last time Gaston will come to him for the kinds of affection a woman can't offer.

And that's right: they're together in LeFou's home, and Gaston wouldn't dare be seen from LeFou's bedroom window. He drifts easily into sleep with the knowledge that Gaston won't be looking down at Belle in the morning, and sleeps soundly through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me your thoughts in the comments or message me @riachinko on Twitter or @rudigerblues on Tumblr ^o^


End file.
